I bought a new wrinkle cream. If you use it once a day, you look younger in a month. Twice a day, you look younger in two weeks. I ate it. As the years go by, and the decades begin to pile up, people will do just about anything to reverse the signs of aging: LASIK surgery, industrial-strength hair dye, seven consecutive forty-ninth birthday parties. Rita Rudner is no exception. When she turned fifty, she couldn’t even bear to say the word. In I Still Have It . . . I Just Can’t Remember Where I Put It, Rudner writes with humor and candor about all of the small indignities and everyday absurdities that have become standard fare. From the perils of catalog-ordering addiction to the challenges of keeping up with the latest in electronics, lingerie, and reality television to the joys and worries of being an older mother to the long search for the perfect retirement house, Rita covers it all. So put on your bifocals and power up your sense of humor! Just don’t blame Rita when your laugh lines get visibly deeper. Refreshingly honest and undeniably hilarious, I Still Have It . . . I Just Can’t Remember Where I Put It is a laugh-out-loud look at the wonders and the surprises of life on the dark side of fifty.

While there are people who actually embrace getting older (although we confess not to know any) most try to deny it. Rita Rudner is no exception. When she reached 50, she couldn't even bear to admit it: "It was more comfortable getting a laugh and telling people I was filthy than having to say the word fffiffffty," she writes. In her hysterically dead-on book I Still Have It...I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It, she relates her absurd adventures as a woman of a certain age navigating the strange and terrifyingly funny world of "near-sighted insights." In chapters such as "Artificially Hip"; "Older Than Springtime, Younger Than Angela Lansbury"; "I Won't Blog, Don't Ask Me"; and "The Advantage of Vintage," Rudner tackles body issues, style, and technology, and looks at the wonders and surprises of life on the dark side of 50. So put on your bifocals and get ready to laugh. Just don't blame Rita if your laugh lines become visibly deeper. "Sexy deadpan is comedian Rita Rudner's trademark style, never more in evidence than in I Still Have It ... I Just Can't Remember Where I Put It ... Pure vaudeville, a kick at any age."--O, The Oprah Magazine

“Vonnegut is George Orwell, Dr. Caligari and Flash Gordon compounded into one writer . . . a zany but moral mad scientist.”—Time Mother Night is a daring challenge to our moral sense. American Howard W. Campbell, Jr., a spy during World War II, is now on trial in Israel as a Nazi war criminal. But is he really guilty? In this brilliant book rife with true gallows humor, Vonnegut turns black and white into a chilling shade of gray with a verdict that will haunt us all. “A great artist.”—Cincinnati Enquirer “A shaking up in the kaleidoscope of laughter . . . Reading Vonnegut is addictive!”—Commonweal

"Hilarious, smart, and utterly addicting. Watch out, Nora Ephron." -Valerie Frankel Jenna McCarthy presents an uproarious but insightful peek behind the curtains at the unholy state of matrimony. With ballsy wit and bawdy humor, she explores everything from male domestic idiocy and the frustrating misfires in spousal communication to how to stay true to the peskiest of vows: forsaking all others. Part in-your-face guide, part brutal confession, this book is a must-read manifesto on surviving marriage in an age when everyone seems to live forever and getting a divorce is as easy as ordering a latte.

Seven men tell their stories of survival on the streets of 1980s New York City in this gritty debut novel by the National Book Award–finalist. Like most New Yorkers, Johnny B. Goode hustles to make a living. His beat happens to be pharmaceutical distribution. His place of business, Washington Square Park. Over the course of one weekend, he and his crew of “retailers” sell their product to students, businessmen, tourists, drifters, and lowlifes, while evading the law and outmaneuvering the competition. It’s a fragile balance that avant-garde saxophonist and all-around nuisance Porco Miserio threatens to upend with his big mouth. As Johnny B. and his crew scramble to maintain their embattled existence, each relates their personal story of life on the fringes of Greenwich Village. Among them are Yusuf Ali, the NBA-sized Muslim whose profession is at odds with his faith; Holy Mother, Johnny B.’s boyhood friend and former Mafia hitman; and Santa Barbara, the Puerto Rican Santeria practitioner who has been deeply spooked. Authentic and original, the chorus of voices captures the streets of New York in all its widescreen splendor and punishing blight. An “atmospherically electric . . . Winning debut,” The Washington Square Ensemble introduced a prodigiously gifted new novelist to American readers (Kirkus Reviews). “The most exotic bunch of sweet characters since some of Jack Kerouac’s ‘holy angels’ first came alive in print.” —Los AngelesHerald Examiner